


after the storm

by QuaintImperfections



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Angst, Force-Sensitive Finn, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-29
Updated: 2016-05-29
Packaged: 2018-07-11 01:08:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7018801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuaintImperfections/pseuds/QuaintImperfections
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While he's in a coma, Finn remembers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	after the storm

**Author's Note:**

> there was a post explaining that the force was the reason Leia had memories of her mother from when she was a newborn, and Finn has just had his awakening, so he has weird dreams/memories of his life before.

You listen for the sound of his voice. 

You heard  _hers_  before, and it hurt; she said goodbye, and she hoped. She believed. But she didn't  _know_. None of you do. 

Your forehead is still burning where her lips touched you, and she doesn’t realise; she doesn’t know she left behind a storm in your head, in your heart. You recall things that aren't yours to remember: your hand in a gentle grasp, a hug, a lullaby. A throat that hurts from crying, a hand that reaches for you as you’re taken away, a scream that gets cut short far too quickly. 

You want to scream back, you want to _go_ back. You can't move. You can't breathe. There are sounds coming from the outside, beyond the memory—unrelenting beeping; urgent voices; fear; until—peace. The memories, the dreams, everything stops for a while. There's nothing around. You're nothing. 

Then again, you've been nothing before. Stripped of face and thought and choice—until the day you die, you thought. But the death that set you free was not your own.

And then you found him. And you lost him. Found her. Held her. Held him when he came back to you. Who taught you that? What made you reach for them when the only thing you'd held on so tightly before was a weapon? 

“Hey, buddy.”

His voice.

“You'll be alright. ”

A hand holding your own when you take your first steps. 

A gentle laughter as you say your first words. 

A throat that hurts from crying—

You open your eyes. The dream—memory?—is slipping away, you need to hold on to it, you try to tell him so; but then you see his face, and you forget. You know you should hold on, but to what? His hand is in your own, so you cling to that as if your life depends on it. 

“Finn?”

Your name. 

You smile. “Hey, Poe.” 

A gentle laughter at those words. 

Your eyes water.

“Hey, hey,” he says gently, fingers caressing your forehead. “You'll be alright.”

“I know,” you reply, voice rough around the lump in your throat. “You told me so.”

He frowns for a moment, but there's noise and more voices enter the room and he moves away. You reach for him. 

“Don't worry, buddy. They just need to check on you. I'm here.” He smiles. 

You hope. 

 


End file.
